


21

by claro



Series: What we could have been [7]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-10
Updated: 2018-08-10
Packaged: 2019-06-25 12:08:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15640452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/claro/pseuds/claro
Summary: based on a prompt by LLM.





	21

Sherlock was pretending not be anxious, for which Bill both loved him and wanted to shake him. But he understood Sherlock better than anyone else, and he could see the worry in his husbands face as they waited.

'This is where I met you,' Bill said conversationally.

'Given that this is the ward you work on and you met me when I was in labour that isn't such a -'

'Nah, I meant this room.' Bill indicated the ceiling, 'Used to be a side ward for pre delivery before we took over floor three during the rebuild.'

He was suddenly accutely aware of Sherlock staring at him, but he kept his gaze fixed on the ceiling.

'You were in here screaming and cursing anyone who came within ten feet. And in four different languages.' Bill cut a sideways glance at Sherlock, 'You called me a 'cack-handed chronic underachiever with pseudo sadistic tendencies'...and then you kicked me in the face.'

Bill's fingers were entwined with Sherlocks and he gave them a soft squeeze as he spoke.

Nineteen years and five children, including the one Sherlock had been in labour with when he met Bill (asking out a labouring patient was not usually considered 'best practice' but there was something about the man that Bill knew he couldn't leave alone) co-habitation, marriage, four beehives on one very expensive allotment later and they were sitting back in the room they had first met. It had changed in 19 years. But so had they.

Bill had been a midwife for a long time, and he had seen countless couples come and go. He'd developed a sense for those who needed help, or needed a partner to stay away, needed the authorities, needed extra support after birth. He had seen so many things, and he thought he had seen it all. Until the day he walked into Sherlock Holmes room.

Sarcastic, rude, independent. He'd made several nurses cry and none of the other midwives would deal with him. Bill had walked in and been treated to a barrage of abuse, but it washed over him. Once, a long time ago when he was a teenager starting his training, he would have been in tears at the things said to him. But at 25 he'd had several years under his belt and had the fingernail scars and the cursing vocabulary to prove it. Labour was not a time to be polite, it may be considered to be the ultimate in romance, but in reality it was swearing and bleeding and sweating and a litany of abuse that would make sailors cry.

Which was why William Murray BSc MSc DMW was, by the point he delivered his adopted son, immune to the tirades borne of hurt and fear. It was why he laughed at Sherlock during his labour, why he teased him, why he never, ever, made fun of the fact that Sherlock had thrown up on him, and why he still teared up every single time he caught a glimpse of the photo he'd snapped of Sherlock holding Hamish for the first time. He hadn't thought too much about it at the time, it was something he'd done for hundreds of patients, a quick snap on his phone at a time when no one would be thinking of photographs. A picture of a quiet moment of overwhelming emotions. But somehow it had seemed so much more important on that day, with that beautiful man who was all alone with no one else to take a picture.

He'd text it to Sherlock two days later, after Sherlock finally gave him his number. But it had been a shock, five months later, to spot that hasty snap of an exhausted and pale Sherlock staring down at an impossibly tiny Hamish, crammed on a book shelf between a handful of spy thrillers and a neurology text book.

Hamish had just turned nineteen. He had always been Bill's son. Always would be.

He'd been followed by Angus, Manus, Vivienne and Allegra. And now he and Sherlock were sitting in the place they first met, Sherlock's stomach softly rounded with a sixth child.

It had been eight years since Allegra had been born and they had both thought their child bearing days behind them. To say this baby had been a surprise was an understatement. Sherlock was already worrying about it. Bill knew he had been obsessing over his age (mid forties was not ideal) genetics (even though this had never been an issue to date) and a thousand other possibilities.

'Lock,' Bill said softly, 'It's all fine.'

'But what if-'

'But what if not?'

And Bill had stared hard at Sherlock. They had shared the same words when Angus was a toddler and they had found out he was deaf. Sherlock's first thoughts has been to the things that Angus would not be able to do.

'Fine, so he can't be a telephone operator or an MI6 chatter interpreter. Or...or I guess he can. I mean, everything is in print now too so....'

Bill had trailed off and shrugged at his husband. Then they took their children for ice cream.

Number six.

Sherlock hadn't even been sure about keeping it. But here they were.

'Okay,' the sonographer angled the screen as she moved the wand across Sherlock's stomach, 'And...here we....oh.'

She hadn't needed to say it. Bill had allowed another midwife to scan Sherlock as a courtesy, but the woman opposite them was suddenly painfully aware that she was infront of her boss and his partner and....and...

'Echogenic bowel,' Bill said quietly, not letting go of Sherlock's hand.

'It doesn't necessarily mean-' the sonographer chirpped in a reassuring voice, but by then Sherlock only had ears for Bill.

'Julie can you give us a minute?' Bill asked, and the woman nodded and fled.

'Bill?'

'Sherlock.' Bill responded in his lightest voice as he picked up the wand and made to rescan his husband.

'I know what that means.'

Bill bit his lip and set the wand down again,. But it took him another thirty seconds before he looked at Sherlock.

'It's a marker for trisomy 21.'

'A soft marker!' Bill pressed. 'Seven out of ten times it-'

'But what if it does?'

At that Bill took a deep breath.

'So what if it does?'

'You-'

'It doesn't matter to me.'

There was silence for several long minutes as Sherlock stared at the ultrasound image still on the screen. Three full minutes later he took a deep breath and sat slightly upright, although he still didn't turn to look at Bill.

'I'll cope. If you are adverse then there are termin-'

Bill's heart broke all over again and he lunged forward, snatching Sherlock's hand and lifting it to his lips to press a desperate kiss against it.

'WE will cope. You and me, Lock. Just like always. Okay? We'll cope.'

It took Sherlock a long moment to look up at him, but when he did those sooty lashes were damp with unshed tears.

'Are you sure?'

Bill laughed, he couldn't help himself, 'No. No I'm not even close to being sure. But in nineteen years with you I've never once been sure,' he shook his head, 'But I've never once been wrong.'

Sherlock was still staring at the ultrasound.

'What would you tell your patients?'

Bill took a deep breath, 'I'd tell them the facts. That an echogenic bowel is an early and soft indicator for Down's but that it wasn't a diagnosis.'

'You would offer other tests?'

'Yeah,' Bill bit his lip, 'Some people they....' he shook his head, ' It's a choice. It's a difficult one. It's a lifetime commitment. More so than any other child.'

'So if we...'

'Sherlock, you know, I would never, ever, make you do something you didn't want to. I will never force you to....christ please tell me that's not what you think of me!'

Bill was surprised by Sherlock's sudden embrace and he burrowed into the other mand neck.

'It'll be fine,' he whispered, and it took a while for him to realise he was chanting it over and over.

He felt Sherlock take a deep breath and expected a statement. Instead Sherlock took Bill's free hand and lifted it to lay across Sherlock's stomach.

Bill closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against Sherlock's shoulder.

Love.

That's what it was. What it had always been.

What it would always be.


End file.
